The zombie lady peered at Nora, though. “Chip?” she asked, drawing a wallet-sized scanner out of her apron pocket. “Ain’t no way you’re sixteen.”
Nora glanced at me in panic. We’d taken her ID chip out when she came to Z Beta, and she hadn’t had it replaced yet. Before she could open her mouth, I said, “No, trust me, she is. Rest of the guys here’ll tell you the same thing.”
Amed nodded furiously. “You think I want to corrupt young’uns, Emmie? I might be dim, but I’m not that dim.”
The waitress bought this, and disappeared. While we waited for the drink, I said, “This is Mr. Braca.” David nodded, and introduced his men in turn. “This is Company Z.” I identified my half of the table. “You guys have any trouble finding the place?”
One of the older men, a grizzled grenadier named Aberforth Sengen, shook his head. “Naw, most know this joint. Mostly dead in here now, except fer that old married couple at the bar. Rumor has it they wouldn’t even leave the pub during the Siege. I think they’re actually part of the bar stools. Sentient growths.”
“I think we’re the only Z-Compers around here, though,” Amed said. “Everyone’s gone. For now or for good.”
I nodded, trying to stay stoic. “I know. It’s too bad.”
“But it’s okay. We just make the best of it. Do a lot of planning here. I’m gonna open a tailor shop, you know!” Amed smiled at me. “Because zombies sometimes need sleeves and things removed? And they sell stain protector for carpets, I could put that on people’s clothes. The guy I talked to about it said you shouldn’t wear it, but I don’t think dead people can get cancer.”
“That is an incredible idea,” Nora told him. “I say go for it.”
I hated to turn the topic to business, but I had to. “Okay, look. We need your help.” I described a few of the things that had happened. When the men heard about Nora and Miss Roe their eyes narrowed.
“Aye,” Aberforth said. “I been hearin’ wild stories about masked kids.”
“Kids?”
Aberforth snorted. “Yeah, kids. Has to be. Then again, I’m at that ‘get off my lawn’ stage of life.”
“Were the targets you’ve heard about living or dead?”
“Both.”
Emmie returned with a pink drink in a fluted glass for Nora. “On the house. Don’t get many living in here nowadays.”
Aberforth continued the conversation around her. “But I haven’t seen anyone wearing bird masks.”
The purple-haired zombie whipped her head around to look at him. “What, you mean those scumbags who’re cutting people up?”
Soon Emmie was seated with us. “I heard they cut a live girl to shreds the other day. Lady who handles the washing for my building told me. But the way she told it, they’ve been attacking zombies, too. In the dead of night.”
“There’ve been so many attacks on zombies, though. This living angle’s different.” Edgar Kaname was almond-eyed, violet-tinged, and had slashing scars along his cheeks and forehead. “And you mentioned the Grave Housers. I’m from New London, born and raised in the slums. Grave Housers are a relatively new gang.”
“Oh yeah,” Emmie said. “They’re bad news, though.”
“Their leader sounded almost Utopian. Renamed the group the Changed, was all sweetness and light. From what I heard, she was trying to run it like some kind of benevolent society.”
Edgar burst out laughing. “Benevolent society? We talking about Mártira Cicatriz, the Red Hellcat? She was a harridan!”
“They’re supposedly out of the city by now,” I shared. “But we still want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Wait a sec,” Aberforth said. “This wouldn’t be the big group of zombies up on the Honduran border, would it? My living brother’s still in the army. Said his unit got called from Fort Knife up in San Pedro to sniff around a group of zombies earlier today.”
“Army? I told the cops.” I froze. “They must have passed the intel along.”
“Either-or. My brother said they didn’t find anything, took a couple people in hand. Should have arrested the lot, but the army’s not meant to concern itself with street criminals. And what with all the troubles, the military’s kind of skittish ’bout putting any but the most violent zombies at the end of a gun now. They know how the undead might react.”
This should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. The idea that the army might’ve gotten mixed up with the Changed—it didn’t just scare me, it angered me. I felt like I’d led my fellow zombies to the firing squad. Risked another encounter that’d rip open a wound that still needed time to heal. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Aberforth nodded. “Don’t doubt you. Oh, and he said … Mártira? That her name? She’s dead. Living killed her.”
The table reacted to this news with silence. David broke it. “I’m still not sure if we’re on the right track with this, though.”
“The cops done anything in the Morgue?”
“No. Nothing of note. But no one has anything bad to say about the Changed.”
Edgar took over. “Yeah, but this wouldn’t be the first time Grave Housers hid their faces and acted like bloody monsters. Where I was raised, sometimes you’ll get gangs going at it in the streets. I know Grave Housers were involved in that at least once or twice.”
“And if Mártira’s gone,” I said, “Hagens would’ve had room to take over. Like Laura said.” Focusing my thoughts, I ventured, “So what do you think about getting as many Company Z vets together as we can—hell, as many zombies as we can—and going after them?” I tried to accommodate David. “Or at least starting a patrol in the city?”
“You’re not talking about going to war, are you? Posse versus posse?” David asked.
“No. Not enough of us for that. But maybe these people need to see that the undead aren’t going to let them get away with this. That we’re willing to police and protect our own—and precisely because things are so unstable.” I looked at Nora. “Living allies, too. Living have already threatened to do whatever they have to do to defend their dead. Why should this be any different?”
“I’m behind the idea,” Aberforth said. “But …” He looked into my eyes, and I saw some anger there—I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or not. “Like you said. There are so few of us now.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry for that.”
“It ain’t your fault,” Amed said. “All of us woulda put down our lives for Dr. Dearly, after what he did for us. And the living were scared, that’s why they tried to kill us. Just don’t like to remember.”
“I don’t blame you,” Nora said. “I don’t think anyone wants to fight anymore. But if people start things like this, we have to finish them.”
“It’s a risk for everyone,” I said. I wanted to be honest with them—and myself. I had more to lose than I dared think about. That didn’t mean I could step aside and let all this happen, though.
Amed nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He studied Nora for a tick and then said, “I’ll go.”
David conversed with his friends and lifted his head. “We’re in. I think the patrol idea is a good one, at least.”
“We’re all in,” Kaname decided. Nods punctuated the end of his sentence. “And we’ll see who else we can dig up. Start tomorrow night? Meet up here?”
I agreed, and thanked them—a small thing in the face of such an offer, but all I could muster up. It meant a lot to me. I felt like I’d let so many of them down. I should be making amends, not receiving favors.
Plan in place, we began our goodbyes. Amed rose to hug Nora again, and looked at me over her hat, saying, “I didn’t think I’d see you again, Cap. I’m gonna make you a suit.”
“Absolutely,” I told him, overwhelmed. “And I’m going to pay you a hundredweight for it.” He grinned.
On the way back to the car, Nora asked, “What’s the next step, then?”
“Go back to the house, collect the others. Hit the streets as
a group. See if the masks are gone or not. And if not?” I opened the passenger side door for her. “Give them a show.”
When we got home, Renfield was waiting for us.
He strode forward from the base of the stairs, something at his side. He dropped it at my feet, and I recognized it as Nora’s valise. “Forgive me, Miss Dearly. I had to go through your drawers and pack for you. I tried to handle your bloomers with two fingers only.”
“What are you doing?” she said. “Is my underwear that frightening? Oh, and by the way—have you gone mental?”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Did she finally get in touch with you again?”
Ren reached into his pocket, drawing out a printed piece of paper.
zboy69: Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.
AllSeeing12: Nothing dire. Had Aethernet taken away when I needed it most. My mother is like a child.
zboy69: News?
AllSeeing12: Something’s going to happen this weekend. D needs to go somewhere where there are a lot of people. Might not be about her, but I think that’s the best way.
AllSeeing12: I’m deleting this account now. Goodbye.
“It could be a joke,” Nora reminded him, even though she looked properly creeped out. “She could be trolling, for all we know.”
“We have to talk to her,” I said, grabbing the printout. “This is a specific threat, an actual time …”
“But we can’t give her away!” For a moment Ren’s eyes softened. “If something’s truly afoot, something this serious, she’s risking everything in reaching out to us. That’s why I’m inclined to believe her.”
I shoved the paper angrily back at him. “The boats,” I decided. “The Erika. We’ll take you there.”
“No way am I hiding on a boat,” Nora argued. “I’m safe here in the house. Besides, we have plans. You were just talking about going out into the city!”
“Just until we get more info.” Turning and taking her hands, I forced her to look up at me. “Will you do this for me? Just to humor me? This is getting weird, and I just want you to be safe.”
Nora screwed up her face but gave in. “For you, I’ll go to the boats to discuss this.”
Renfield turned to her, even as he ripped up the paper. “I’m sorry, Miss Dearly. I get the impression that you think I’ve sided with Miss Mink, but I’m only worried about you.”
Picking up the bag, Nora said, “I know. I know you wouldn’t lie about something like this. I’m sorry for earlier. It’s just … if you knew Mink, you’d realize why I’m kind of dubious. She’s a bully. That’s all she is!”
“Right now her motivations don’t matter.” I thrust my hat back on and grabbed Nora’s hand. “Ren, look after the Roes. Let’s go.”
That night, the others partied.
The fires went up soon after we stopped. Some of the Changed danced and sang with abandon, their brush with the army making them boisterous. A few, angry about the zombies the army had carted away, talked about rounding up a posse to go get them. Others talked of marching to the base the army had come from and tearing it apart. The undead laughed and swore loudly, drinking whatever they had—even if the drink couldn’t affect them.
Coalhouse sat mutely through all of it, glaring into the fire.
After a while I made my way over and sat beside him on a fallen tree. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. I wasn’t even sure if I ought to care. Things were looking more and more dire with each passing day, and my grief was turning into apathy.
Mártira would have hated me for that.
The full moon above had moved by the time he spoke. “He didn’t care that I was a soldier.” He looked to his half-empty cup of warm rum. “The guy back on the trail.”
“Should he?”
“Yes!” Coalhouse handed me his cup and stood up. “I mean, I wasn’t even a dead recruit. I was in the Punk army. You’d think they’d at least listen to me, talk to me like a freaking equal. Even if we were on different sides!”
Setting the cup down, I moved to follow him. “He didn’t know.”
“I told him!” Coalhouse punched one of his hands into the other. “I told the bastard!”
Looking around at the party, the dead dancing amidst the flames that might’ve cremated them and the trees that might’ve fed the blaze, I lowered my voice and said, “Look, is that what you’re really worried about right now?”
“You don’t get it.” The boy reached up to finger his thinning hair and then violently cast his arm down. “No one ever notices when I do something good. They only notice when I do something they think is wrong. My parents used to do the same thing; that’s why I lied about my age and went into the army. Even when I fight with Tom about the fact that he made me this way, that he killed me, everyone just rolls their eyes and says, ‘Get over it. You’re stupid.’ I helped Miss Roe, and she doesn’t care. They don’t respect me, they don’t care about me. No one does.”
I could sympathize with him, and yet I remained unmoved. “You have to talk to Hagens tonight,” I tried to tell him. “For all our sakes.”
“Oh, am I on a schedule?” He turned around and advanced on me. This time I didn’t step back. “You just want to use me, too? Like the others? Like the army?”
“You came here to help!”
Coalhouse lifted his hand again, and just as swiftly dropped it. He looked at it, his expression slack, before muttering, “I don’t know why I came here.” And with that, he marched back toward the fire. Having no other option, I trotted after him like a beaten but loyal dog.
Only to encounter the very woman I wished not to see.
Hagens was waiting for us—or rather, Coalhouse. At the sound of her voice, nearly vibrating with anger, I shrank back, hoping not to attract her attention. “Last chance for you to come clean. You tell the truth, I let you run before I start shooting.”
“Truth about what?” Coalhouse groused.
“The army. Today. Did you bring them? Is this all part of some plot?”
“No. They didn’t do anything, did they?” Coalhouse walked closer to her and sat down on the tree again, as casually as anything—though I could hear the tightness in his voice. “Except make fools of us.”
Hagens stepped forward and took him by the sleeve, pulling him once more to his feet. “ ‘Didn’t do anything’? They took some of our people. They’re going to interrogate them, charge them!”
“So? Don’t you trust your own people not to talk? They didn’t give you up.”
“I don’t trust the humans that’ll try to make them.” She looked at the dying embers ringing the edge of the fire pit, her face demonic by their light. “We have to act. Now. Before it all comes undone.”
“What do you mean?” Coalhouse’s tone grew steadier. I remained standing and still.
Hagens released Coalhouse and sat herself. She reached into the pocket of her waistcoat and pulled out a cigarette, leaning into the circle of coals to light it. As she did, I was surprised to see that her hands were shaking. “We have to get Smoke. Within the next few nights. I’d hoped for more time, but there is none. Mártira’s death might be investigated. The others might spill.”
“Why do you want him?”
Hagens took a draw of her cigarette. “That stuff on Smoke—the royals don’t like printed materials. Where’d you get it?”
“They can still print stuff off. Had to hang around the ship for hours. Finally Salvez left his station open. Could only get a few things.” Coalhouse made a rolling, tickling sound in his throat and sat. “As usual, no one noticed me. But do you even know where he is? Where they moved him?”
This question gave Hagens pause. She shook her head, the motion sharp. “No.”
“He’s on the Erika.” Upon hearing this, she turned her face fully to his. “You know how many guards are on him? When they rotate out? How many docs and techs are around? I do. And I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, as long as you do the same.”
Hagens star
ed at Coalhouse, and I thought I must be looking at him the same way—not just wonderingly, but with a terrible, sick sort of fear. He’d just told her where the prisoner was. Surely that was too much to give away, even to get information in return. My inner cagey police dealer greatly disapproved.
But at least he was acting. Maybe this was it.
“We were in the army together, Hagens.” He gestured at his chest. “Anyone else here been beside you in battle? Can anyone else here help you like I can?”
“No.” Releasing a puff of smoke, Hagens shut her eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Good. Start with why you want him so bad.”
Hagens looked at her cigarette and threw it into the fire pit. She answered in a soft tone, one almost submissive—truly scared. I’d never imagined such a sound could exist. “To protect him. And Company Z. And all zombies.”
Coalhouse blinked on the one side. “What?”
“I never meant to join up with another group, least of all one like this.” She looked at the boy. “Until about a month ago I was going my own way. Didn’t even have a room anywhere—spent twelve hours a day in a pub by what would become the Morgue. The Failing Liver. Looking back on it now, I want to kick myself for being so idle, but … I didn’t want to lift a finger to help the living. Not after what they did. I was just sitting around with my anger.”
“What changed?”
“One night I was approached by some very odd toffs. Living.” I crept closer, listening in. “They said there was a zombie they wanted to get their hands on. Said they’d pay me good money to bring him to another location. Acted like, I don’t know … they had a debt they wanted to collect, maybe? And they just didn’t want to face a zombie on their own? This was before he bit anyone, mind. No one knew he was carrying a different strain. No one knew who the hell he was.”